


Calm the Storm

by Iamnotthewriteryourelookingfor



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, just fluff, short piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamnotthewriteryourelookingfor/pseuds/Iamnotthewriteryourelookingfor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His old Russian comrades took advantage of Kuryakin's rage but Solo prefers his Russian calm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm the Storm

Everything he was feeling was familiar; the pounding in his head like the marching feet of soldiers, the tightening in his chest like he had been buried alive. The air around him felt thick, like he was drowning in soup. He closed his eyes, standing in the middle of the hotel room, letting the cold air brush against his skin. He focused on his breathing, on how his bare chest expanded and contracted with each controlled breath. How the fabric on his pajama pants felt on his hips; how they were only just long enough but didn’t reach his feet. His finger tapped a steady rhythm against his thigh. He could calm down. He needed to calm down. 

But he couldn’t calm down.

Two arms gently wrapped around his torso causing him to tense further. Warm lips pressed against his neck. “Easy, Peril.” Solo breathed against his skin, his warm breath licking Illya’s skin. “It’s impolite to kill your partner.” Illya relaxed, but only slightly. The rage in his chest wouldn’t be chased away so easily. 

“Solo.” He breathed, his jaw tight. Solo kissed him again, this time behind his ear. One of his hands began to rub Illya’s chest as he embraced the Russian. After a few silent moments, he felt Illya begin to relax. The ribs under his hand moved more smoothly and he lowered it from the hairless chest to join the other, resting at the muscular navel. Illya sighed with content as he leaned backwards into Solo’s arms. Solo kissed his neck, then his shoulder, breathing in the smell of pine and cheap hotel soap. 

“Solo.” Illya breathed again, letting his head drop back to rest on Solo’s shoulder. Solo chuckled softly as he felt Illya finally relax completely in his arms. 

The air felt light and cool again, the pounding in his head softened to the ticking of his grandfather’s watch, returned by the man behind him. His partner, his friend.

His cowboy.

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the man from Uncle at the movies and absolutely loved it.  
> And I just had to write this as soon as Illya's rage came up.  
> This is probably the shortest I'll ever write but... eh.


End file.
